


Renewal

by CommonNonsense



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Back Together, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: With the reformation of Overwatch, McCree sees about rekindling an old flame.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've got a big fic to finish, buuut a friend requested a bit of McGenji and I couldn't say no. :D

“Feels weird to be back here, don’t it?”

McCree learned early on how to read Genji’s emotions from his body language rather than his face. Still, the cyborg manages to give nothing away as he lifts his head to regard McCree, interrupted from his peaceful meditation.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were actually busy, should I–?” McCree starts, but Genji shakes his head.

“No, it is fine. Please, join me,” he says, gesturing to the sparse grass beside him. McCree accepts the invitation and carefully, wary of the cliff’s edge, eases himself down beside his old friend.

As he looks out across the sea, legs dangling over the cliff to kick his heels against the rocks, McCree is overcome by a wave of nostalgia. He remembers evenings just like this spent on this ledge, smoking and drinking and laughing with old friends, the smell of cigarillo smoke intermingling with the salty spray of the sea. He had never thought he would see Gibraltar again, let alone sitting beside his old flame. A current of bittersweetness underlies the nostalgia as he remembers the time spent with Genji here, years ago.

“It is weird,” Genji admits after a long moment. “I left for many reasons. I did not expect to be back.”

“Yeah,” McCree agrees with a nod. “Same here. Once Overwatch was disbanded, I figured that was the end of it, y’know?”

He breathes deep, relishing the salty tang in the air, refreshing and familiar. “It’s good, though,” he adds. “Good to see everyone again. Didn’t realize how much I missed the old team until I got back.” He pauses for emphasis, then adds, “Some more than others.”

Genji chuckles, but there is a wistful air to it. “You did not change at all, did you, Jesse,” he says, a statement more than a question.

“It seems to work for me. But you seem like you’re doing … better. What have you been up to all this time?”

“I am better, yes. I am a different man now. More …” He trails off, searching for words. “More complete, I suppose. I know who I am again. Meeting my master has allowed me to come to peace with what I am.”

McCree lets himself smile, just a bit. “I’m real glad to hear that,” he says honestly, because he still remembers–the broken young man wheeled in on Angela’s stretcher, the agony of physical therapy that sometimes left him sobbing, the sheer anger and self-loathing that nearly tore him apart from the inside out. When Genji had left, leaving Overwatch–and their tenuous relationship–behind, McCree had half-expected to find him again as a body.

He takes a deep breath to steel himself. “Genji, listen, I–”

“You’re here to talk about us. I know.” Genji looks at him with a little tilt to his head: amusement. “You are not nearly so subtle as you like to believe.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to be subtle. If you asked me right now, I’d tell you the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That I’ve missed your pretty face damn near every day since you left.” McCree can’t bring himself to make eye contact–for whatever that means when speaking to a visor-clad cyborg–and turns his attention back out to the horizon.

Beside him, Genji sighs quietly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was … angry. About a lot of things. I barely felt like a person. When I left, I assumed Overwatch would move on without me, and so would you.”

“Well, I mean, we all got on with our lives, but that was an awful shock to wake up to, y’know?” McCree remembers waking up that morning five years ago like any other day, striking out into the base to find his lover, and being told point-blank by a teary Angela that Genji had left. There had been no warning, only a note left behind.

“In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have left quite so dramatically.”

“No, but that’s in the past now. I didn’t come all the way up here to harp on you about what happened years ago.” McCree licks his lips, hesitates. “What I came up here for was to see how you felt about tryin’ it again.”

Genji lifts his head sharply. “What?”

“I mean,” McCree continues, scraping the heel of his boot against the rocky cliffside, “I know it’s been years and all. But damned if I don’t still feel somethin’ for you.”

“I don’t–” Genji cuts himself off, unfolds himself from his cross-legged position. “I did not think …”

“I don’t wanna push it if you don’t want it,” McCree interrupts. “I just thought, maybe, with both of us back here for Overwatch and how things ended …”

“It isn’t that,” Genji sighs. “Actually, I feel the same.”

McCree’s heart gives am an extra hard thud against his ribs. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound too certain.”

Genji rubs the back of his neck, a surprisingly human gesture. “It is not that I am uncertain of the feelings,” he says. “But it has been so long, and I thought you would be angry for how I left before. I did not expect you to want this again. And with everything happening now with Overwatch …”

“Aw, none of that matters anymore. If you want it, too, that’s all that matters to me.”

Genji doesn’t answer for a long moment, his gaze turned toward the sea. “C’mon,” McCree urges gently, knocking his knee against Genji’s. “Let me see that pretty face again?”

He watches as Genji slowly, haltingly, lifts his hands to the back of his visor and presses against the latch. The visor gives a little hiss as it detaches from its mooring, and in one smooth movement, Genji removes the entirety of his visor and helmet and sets them on the cliff beside him. Then he looks at McCree.

The scars are older now, paler but still etched deep into skin, a patternless series of criss-crossed lines on his nose and cheeks. His hair is no longer an artificial green, but a shock of black, which sets into spikes as Genji nervously runs his hand through. Despite the years, Genji looks much the same: a little older, a little less angry, but still the same young man McCree remembers.

"Still the handomest picture I’ve ever seen,” McCree murmurs, and Genji gives a self-conscious laugh. McCree has a hand half-raised before he even realizes what he’s doing, and he brushes his thumb along the longest of the scars: a thin, long line that runs from the corner of Genji’s left eye and down, over his cheekbone and across his lips. When he catches himself, he flushes and takes back his hand. “Sorry, that was probably a bit–”

“No,” Genji interrupts, a smile pulling up the scarred corners of his mouth. “It is fine. I …”

He trails off. McCree watches his gaze flick to the side, his brows scrunching, as though coming to a decision. Then, so quickly that McCree’s eyes can’t track the movement: a hand on the back of his neck, a mischievous smile, a mouth pressed against his.

They both end up grinning too hard to maintain the kiss for more than a second, and Genji pulls back with a little chuckle. “Does that answer the question?” he asks, eyes glittering playfully with the gold light of the setting sun.

“Y’know what,” McCree says, already leaning back in, “I think it does.”

The next kiss feels like something brand-new yet perfectly familiar all at once. He gently kisses the scar on Genji’s upper lip, like he used to do in years past, and feels Genji smile against his mouth again. He slides a hand along Genji’s jaw, sinking his fingertips into soft, short hair, and gives himself over as Genji’s lips part beneath his. It feels like returning home, warm and welcoming and comforting.

It feels like starting again.


End file.
